The Secret log
987 Words
The house was way too quiet.
Zara sat frozen in front of Ethan’s laptop, her face lit up by the screen. She hit play on the video again, leaning in this time, listening for anything she missed before. There's something faint, a shaky melody almost lost in static. It sounded like someone trying to play a piano underwater.
Her stomach clenched.
Then she heard it. Not from the laptop but from the hallway.
One note.
C.
Then another.
E.
Her hand shook as she closed the laptop. The music cut off. The silence that followed felt heavy, almost alive.
She stood, bare feet silent on the marble. The air was colder here, as if the house itself was waiting.
At the end of the hallway, a thin strip of light slipped under the east wing door, the one Ethan always said to leave alone.
Her heart thumped harder. She stepped forward. The light flickered, like it knew she was there.
A voice slipped past her ear, soft and close. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Zara stopped. “Who’s there?”
No answer.
The piano started up again, louder now, the melody fuller and strange like it was pulling her closer.
She reached for the doorknob.
“Zara!”
The shout snapped her out of it.
Ethan stood at the far end, his face dark with anger.
“What are you doing?”
She turned, guilt and stubbornness wrestling inside her. “I heard something. Someone’s playing..”
He was on her in a second, grabbing her arm. “You opened it?”
“I didn’t..”
His grip tightened. “Tell me you didn’t open that door.”
“I didn’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “But someone’s in there.”
“No one is.”
“Then who’s playing the piano?”
Ethan’s eyes darted to the door. Just for a second, she caught something on his face. Fear. Real fear.
He let go, stepping away. “You already broke the rules once. Don’t do it again.”
“Why won’t you admit something’s going on?”
“Because it’s not your problem!”
His words crashed down the hall, sharp as glass. Then, softer: “Go back to your room.”
Zara didn’t move.
“Now, Miss Kane.”
He’d never called her that before. It stung more than she expected. She turned away, blinking back tears she didn’t even understand.
As she passed him, she muttered, “You can keep lying to yourself, Ethan, but something in this house wants to be heard.”
She didn’t see him flinch at his own name.
When she was gone, Ethan faced the door again. His hand hovered over the knob.
The piano fell silent.
He waited.
A woman’s laugh drifted through the c***k—light, cruel, and achingly familiar.
Ethan’s breath caught. “Elise,” he whispered.
The laughter faded.
Zara came down the next morning and found Ethan already at the table, looking wrecked. His eyes were red. He hadn’t slept. Yesterday’s photograph sat between them, like it was waiting for something to happen.
“Sit,” he said.
She sat, slow and careful.
He didn’t waste time. “I hate being lied to. You saw something on my laptop.”
She felt her throat tighten. “Yeah.”
“What did you see?”
“Your recording. The one where you said she’s still here.”
He stared at her, unblinking. “And?”
She dropped her voice. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think something’s happening here. It’s about her. Maybe about me too.”
His hand twitched on the table. “Don’t say that.”
“You said it,” she shot back. “I look like her. She died here. You hear her every night. You picked me out of all those people. That’s not a coincidence.”
He shot to his feet. “Enough.”
Her voice shook, but she kept going. “You’re scared of her. But I think she’s scared, too.”
He stopped cold.
Something about that got through to him.
He sat again, quieter now. “Why would she be scared?”
“Because she’s trying to reach you. Or maybe warn you. Or both.”
His face changed into confusion, pain, disbelief. He looked at her like she was speaking in a code only Elise would have understood.
“Do you believe in the afterlife, Zara?” His voice caught her off guard.
She thought about it. “I believe in unfinished stories.”
He almost smiled. Not quite. “You’ll fit in here.”
They sat in silence. Rain started tapping against the windows. After a long moment, Ethan stood up again, like he’d made up his mind. “Meet me tonight. Eleven. East wing.”
She froze. “But you said..”
“I know what I said.” His eyes met hers, somewhere between challenge and giving up. “If you’re set on digging, you might as well see what you’re digging into.”
Zara nodded. Her heart thudded in her chest.
She started to get up, but he stopped her with her name.
“And Zara,” he said, voice low, “if the piano starts before I get there... don’t open the door.”
At eleven, Zara stood at the east wing door, pulse pounding.
The piano was silent.
The air buzzed, thick and charged, like the house was holding its breath.
A soft click behind her. Ethan.
He held a lantern instead of a flashlight. The light carved out his face in sharp lines.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
He turned the handle.
The door groaned open.
The piano sat in the middle of the room, blanketed in dust, untouched for years.
On the stool, someone had left a fresh rose.
The same kind Elise wore in her hair the night she died.
- Writer
